Dwelling In The Past
by susieq666
Summary: Dwelling in the past is futile. It can't be changed or put right. Yet a brutal and apparently motiveless murder has the hallmark of a revenge attack - for something in the past. So, while the team tries to solve it, the past is the place to go. Meanwhile, Horatio has problems of his own - is his past coloring his actions? This follows directly from my story, 'Taking A Break'.
1. Chapter 1

DWELLING IN THE PAST

Chapter 1

"You know, you don't _need_ to go home tonight."

His lips still tasting Cecile's gentle kiss, he felt himself hesitate a moment too long.

Cecile pulled back with an embarrassed smile, and sat back down. "I'm sorry."

"No…" Horatio knew his face had given him away. "You just… took me by surprise."

"No, it's my fault. I misjudged the moment." She looked down at her hands. "My timing… I'm out of practise."

He was lost for words. Had his friend really just asked him to sleep with her? And, if so, what were his thoughts on it? "Cecile… It's just… Well, I didn't think we were there yet."

"Please, don't explain. I was wrong."

"Look, we're friends. Good friends. I would hate to lose that."

"You think we would?" She shook her head. "No, no, don't say anything. Just forget what I said."

Sébastien, perhaps sensing tension, jumped to the floor and gave a single sharp bark. Cecile bent to soothe him.

"Cecile… I haven't said no…"

"Your face said it, my dear."

"I'm sorry."

Realising that, with both of them severely embarrassed, nothing was now going to happen, Horatio put his hand lightly on Cecile's knee, and murmured, "I'm going to go."

"Will you…?" Her voice trailed off.

"I'll call you tomorrow." He got up, trying desperately to think of something to say to make things better.

She didn't get up, didn't look at him, and he went to let himself out. He heard a disconsolate whine and found Sébastien behind him.

"Go back, dog," he said softly. He would swear the terrier looked perplexed. "You are too smart, Seb. Go back to Cecile. I'll see you another time."

He watched the dog turn and walk a few steps, before stopping and looking back. Horatio opened the door and went out. He sat in the car without starting the engine. He hit the steering wheel hard. "Damn! Damn! Damn!"

He felt tears in his eyes, and a vague sick feeling in his stomach. He mentally berated himself. _Horatio, couldn't you have seen it coming? And couldn't you have reacted differently, even if you hadn't? After over five decades on this earth, couldn't you have received a woman's proposition with more grace? _He whispered, "Oh damn…" once more, and dashed his hand over his eyes.

With a heavy sigh, he started the car and headed home.

* * *

Horatio slept badly. Cecile's surprise invitation – and it had been a surprise – was causing him to dwell on their relationship. It was something he cherished. A woman nearer his own age than many of his acquaintance; sophisticated, intelligent; someone he felt he could discuss anything with… The fact that the relationship could turn romantic, even sexual, truly had not occurred to him. He wasn't looking for a partner, and Cecile had earlier said that she wasn't either. True, they had spent a lot of his vacation together, both aware of their friendship deepening.

He knew he had rarely handled anything so clumsily. Lack of practise… Which was what Cecile had said too. He allowed himself a wry smile, in the darkness. _How could two mature adults be so inept? _He would have to callCecile tomorrow. He'd promised._ But what to say? How to make it right?_

He got up, walked naked into the kitchen, opening the fridge and flinching at the bright light. He took a brief drink of milk, straight from the carton, closed the fridge and went to look out of the window. There was an almost full moon, its gentle light reflecting off the sea. He stood there for a while, thinking about Cecile. There was only one thing to do. Be honest with her. Say exactly what he wanted. That was, if he actually knew… Anyway, what about what _she_ wanted?

A full bladder drove him to the bathroom, and he went back to bed. He dozed fitfully for the rest of the night, waking early. Too early to call anyone… He took his guns from the safe, where they'd languished for the past two weeks, and into the kitchen to clean. Carefully disassembling them, cleaning every part, applying a film of oil where necessary…. It was a job he enjoyed, even found relaxing. And it left him as certain as he could be that he would never get caught out by a misfiring weapon. Having seen Speed killed by a lax attitude to the task, he never skimped on it, and hoped the rest of the team needed no reminders either.

He reassembled the SIG and the little Beretta, and returned them to the safe for the rest of the day. He glanced at the time, and thought again about the phone call he needed to make. He still had no idea what to say, but he was fairly certain it ought to be done face to face.

He made coffee, and went onto the balcony, taking his cell with him.

With a sigh – _get it over with_ – he called up Cecile's number.

"Horatio…" She answered quickly. Waiting maybe… "How are you?"

"I'm fine. You?"

"Also fine. Cecile, last night…"

"We don't need to discuss it…"

"I think we do," he said gently. "Can I come over later?"

"Of course."

"Don't make dinner. I'll bring something with me."

He knew that all he'd done was put it off, but at least he'd made contact.

Feeling slightly happier, he attended to chores for the rest of the day, went for a short run on the beach, and returned home to shower and change, ready to go out.

He was about to step into the shower when his cell rang.

"Eric?"

"Boss… Sorry to disturb your vacation…"

"Which is almost over. It's Sunday. You working?"

"I got called in. We've got a major case."

"Tell…"

"Triple homicide, or possibly a double homicide and a suicide. A few things don't add up. Nasty one. A kid involved."

"Oh hell. Do you need me?"

"I do. I'm really sorry. Had you got plans for this evening?"

"Nothing important," he lied. "Where are you? At the scene?"

"Yep. It's just into the woods." He gave the location. "Hidden, but you'll see all the cars on the road. They look as if they were picnicking…"

"Okay. I'll be about twenty minutes."

With a heavy heart, he rang off and called Cecile. _No point in beating about the bush. _"I'm sorry, I can't come over. I've been called in."

"I understand." She sounded disappointed.

"Honestly. It'll be in the news, I expect."

"Horatio, I don't doubt you! Come when you can."

"I will. Love to Seb."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**(A/N: I want to thank those of you who've given me such kind reviews. I know I don't reply individually, but please don't think I don't appreciate it. So thank you for taking the time.)**

DWELLING IN THE PAST

Chapter 2

Horatio showered quickly, put a comb through his wet hair, and dressed in a suit. Collecting his guns and badge, he went quickly down to his car, and headed for the crime scene. It took longer than he had estimated. A fine Sunday had brought out both tourists and locals, although most were now heading back into town. He was hampered by the fact that he was driving his own car, without benefit of lights and siren. It was a good half hour before he reached the scene, marked by a cluster of police cruisers and ambulances. He noted an ambulance tech sitting on the back of his vehicle, with a small girl, wrapped in a blanket, on his lap. Two Hummers, the ME's van… Further up the road, in a lay-by, a Mercedes.

Signing in and bobbing under the tape, he met Eric coming towards him.

"Boss, thanks for coming."

"No problem. Sorry I was so long – you caught me getting into the shower. Bring me up to speed."

"Three bodies – shot. Probably mother, father and son. It's supposed to look as if Dad shot himself, but there's a lot not right with the scene. I've got Ryan and Walter here. Couldn't get Calleigh – she's out of state, on a visit. Tom's here. He's pronounced, but we haven't moved anything yet. I wanted you to see it."

Horatio nodded. He indicated the ambulance. "Who's the little lady?"

"Daughter, I presume. We only just found her in the undergrowth… Walter heard her whimpering."

"Mmm… Odd – she's very young to make an escape on her own."

"She's also very cold, and in shock. Not saying a word. Oh, and H… Her clothing was disturbed."

Horatio gave a heavy sigh, and nodded. "We'd better get her to the hospital. I want someone with her… Did you say Walter found her? Is she okay with him?"

"Seemed to be."

They walked further into the crime scene. It wasn't particularly gruesome, not a blood bath as many crime scenes were. Yet there was a deep poignancy about so much death in a peaceful woodland setting. The family had obviously been picnicking… Father and son were lying close to the remnants of a laid-out picnic. The mother, face down, a little further away.

Horatio summoned Walter. "You found the little girl?"

"Welcome back, boss. Yes, I did. She's terrified, poor little thing."

"Are you happy to go to the hospital with her? I don't want her left alone for now. You know what's needed."

Walter agreed.

"Get going then. I don't want her here when we bring the bodies out." He turned back to Eric. "Do we have an ID?"

"The guy is Troy Matthews. Nice address in the Grove. Everything was still in his pockets, including cell and money. Frank's headed over there, with a house key. There are also Mercedes keys, so we assume that's their car up the road. I haven't looked at it yet."

"Who reported it?"

"An elderly couple. This was their 'favourite place' for a pit stop apparently."

"Not any more presumably… Are they with PD?"

"I think they're at the hospital. Very shocked, particularly the lady. Frank okayed it – I think he was afraid she'd have a heart attack on the spot. He says there's virtually no chance they're involved."

Horatio glanced at the sky. "It's going to get dark before long…"

"I've got some lights on the way."

Horatio allowed himself a smile. "You've done well, Eric. I couldn't run a crime scene better myself. Doubt you needed me."

"I'm sorry, I just thought…"

"Joking, brother. Three deaths and a possible assault on a child? I'd expect to be here." He walked over to the ME, who was examining the woman's body. "Tom…"

"Horatio, nice to see you. Good vacation?"

"Very, thank you. What can you tell me?"

"Single shot each. Mother and boy in the head. Father in the neck."

"Sounds like an execution. Are we looking for bullets?"

"Only from father – that was a through-and-through. I'll get the others at autopsy."

"Any powder burns or stippling on the bodies?"

"None. Even the supposed suicide."

They moved over to the father. He lay on his back, a gun – a 9mm – close to his right hand. "Odd place to shoot yourself… in the throat."

"That's what I thought." Eric joined him. "Actually quite a difficult angle… And – see he wears his watch on his right? So he may be left-handed anyway… I said there was a lot that didn't add up."

"Can I take the bodies, Horatio?"

"You've got plenty of pictures, Eric?" At the younger man's nod, he said, "Yes, Tom, you can, but I want heads and hands bagged first. I don't want to lose any evidence. Oh, how long dead?"

"No more than an hour or two."

Ryan joined them, as they watched the three bodies being removed. "No way to end your holiday, boss…"

"Oh, I don't know – I was getting bored. It was almost over, anyway. You found anything here?"

"Not really. It looks as if they were just enjoying a picnic, and were taken by surprise."

"No witnesses, I suppose?"

"Not that we've found."

"We can put out an appeal – someone might have seen or heard something," Horatio mused. "Right, gentlemen, we're looking for a bullet. You know where the father was - probably sitting down…"

He watched for a moment as his two juniors dropped to hands and knees to begin searching the grass and undergrowth. He knew it wouldn't be easy. He walked slowly round the area, looking for… anything… Anything that caught his skilled and experienced attention. Nothing did.

Snapping on latex gloves, he carefully picked up the 9mm. He immediately noticed the filed-off serial number. He released the magazine, and was surprised to find only two bullets in it. He sniffed the weapon. It was hardly definitive, but he would guess the gun had not been fired recently. He bagged it, to give to Calleigh the following day.

Leaving Eric and Ryan to their search, he began to bag the picnic stuff and personal belongings.

He was glad when a van arrived with generator and floodlights. While they were being set up, he called Frank Tripp.

"Frank, where are you?"

"Back at PD. Are you on the case?"

"Yep. You been to the house?"

"I have. Absolutely nothing unusual there, at first glance, but it's sealed off for now. You?"

"Not much, yet. Not a suicide though. More like an execution. Three homicides. Did you know they found a daughter?"

"No! Where?"

"Hiding. She's gone to the hospital. She… may have been assaulted…"

"How old?"

"Young. About two."

"Oh, hell! Ruined your vacation then…"

"It was over anyway. Frank, can I have a couple of your guys to guard this crime scene tonight? Boring job, but it's late - we're not going to finish here."

"No problem – I'll sort it out. You coming back?"

"Maybe. Later. We're looking for a bullet."

The lights came on, fiercely bright. It was far from perfect, the harsh shadows making the search just as difficult, but he really wanted that bullet.

Horatio walked over to the others. "You two okay?"

"Hard on the knees," Ryan muttered.

Eric chuckled. "We're okay."

"Where was the girl?"

Ryan pointed. "Behind that tree, in some bushes." He stood up gratefully. "I'll show you."

Horatio realised it was too dark to do anything useful, and knew he should have looked there first. He blamed the lapse on 'rust' – being away for two weeks. He walked out to the Hummer and found a large plastic sheet.

"We need to process this area, but in daylight…"

They covered the area to keep dew and any rain off the site.

Leaving Eric and Ryan to their search, Horatio loaded the bagged items into the Hummer, retrieved a set of keys and walked up to the Mercedes. The cluster of vehicles had dwindled, a single cruiser, with two officers inside, waiting to take the night shift. Still gloved, he unlocked the car and peered inside. Instinct told him there was no evidence there, and it was just as the family had left it. He decided it could safely be left for retrieval the next day.

It was fully dark, except for the eerie glow of the floodlights, when he heard a triumphant shout.

"Found it!" Ryan… Horatio smiled to himself. Eric would be peeved – the two were fiercely competitive.

Ryan was holding a single blood-stained bullet.

"Thank God for that," Eric murmured, standing up stiffly, then bending to rub his knees.

Horatio took the bullet carefully from him. "Well done, Mr Wolfe. I'll tell you one thing, gentlemen – this bullet didn't come from that 9mm." He glanced at his watch. "Let's call it a night." He handed the bullet back to be bagged. "Have you eaten?"

"Not for ages."

"Take the evidence in. I'm going to the hospital, then I'll buy you dinner…"

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

DWELLING IN THE PAST

Chapter 3

Early the next morning, Horatio divided up his team.

"We've got no obvious motives, no suspects, and not much evidence… so we need to find something quickly. So… Calleigh and Ryan, stay here – work with Tom, with the bullets, with the trajectories. Let me know as soon as you can make an estimate of where the gunman was in relation to the victims. Walter, grab someone from PD, and go to the house. Everything you can on the family… Papers, photographs, computers… It wasn't random, so we need a motive. Talk to the neighbors, find out if there are any relatives around. Natalia, you and PD – Frank, if he's available - go to the guy's work. Same there – papers, computers, and talk to everyone. Frank's getting a warrant as we speak. You may need it. Okay, folks? Keep me posted."

With only Eric remaining, he said, "Right, brother, you and I – back to the crime scene. Before that though, arrange for the Mercedes to be brought in. I'm going to get an appeal out for witnesses. Downstairs in half an hour – okay?"

Horatio realised he was, perversely, enjoying himself. It was a paradox he had long ago rationalised to himself. He was conscious that two adults and a child were dead, that another was orphaned and traumatised, but he aimed to get them justice. This was what he lived for, what he was good at. A difficult murder case was just what he needed to get back into harness after his time off. True, he could have done with more staff – his brain was teeming with ideas to be followed up – but the people he'd got were the best. He had little doubt they'd all know more by the end of the day.

He called their press officer, to say what he wanted in the witness appeal. Unsurprisingly, the murders were already big news. Troy Matthews was a well-known name, a wealthy property developer in Miami. Perhaps the sort of man who made enemies… He knew he was assuming that Troy was the target, not his wife or son, but it was a fair bet. He'd stick with it until proved wrong.

With twenty minutes to waste, he made himself a coffee, and relaxed a little. It would be a long hard day, and he needed to be in the right frame of mind. At least he could probably put the idea of sexual assault on the child behind him. The hospital had reported no injuries whatever on the little girl, and that her pants and underwear were wet with urine. Walter had taken her clothes for examination, but they agreed the scene spoke more of an interrupted call of nature than anything else. One thing that perturbed him was why the gunman had left the child unharmed. He was assuming the assailant had watched the family, before shooting, so he would be aware of the daughter's existence. Maybe he didn't see her as a threat. Or, more likely, he'd been disturbed… Horatio sighed, and sipped the coffee. Whatever, the girl would now be placed with Child Services unless or until a relative came forward. He wanted to talk to her, young as she was, but thought other tasks were more urgent. Besides, she was still sedated in hospital for now.

His mind wandered to Cecile. He had enjoyed his time off, no question. He had become fond of her. He needed to talk to her too, but he hadn't the time or concentration until things quietened down a little. He felt both guilty and relieved. He would infinitely rather work on a crime, however complicated, than on personal feelings.

At the crime scene, they turned first to the area where the little girl had been found. Lifting the plastic sheet, they examined the ground.

"We don't think she was assaulted, right?" Eric said.

"Probably not. Nothing on her, and no injuries… We need to be sure that nothing untoward went on here though."

Together they carefully examined the ground, looking for any disturbance, trying to sense any abnormal dampness – not easy with gloves on. Eric touched one patch, raised his fingers to his nose.

"Got something?" Horatio asked.

"Urine. I'll swab it."

They found nothing else.

"I think she was taken here for a pee," Horatio surmised. "That would explain the pants round the ankles. Her Mom must have heard something from the clearing and told her to stay put… Which she did, for a couple of hours."

"Lucky kid."

"You think? All her family dead?" Horatio smiled briefly. "Sorry, I'm getting jaundiced in my old age. Let's hope there's a kind grandmother or aunt."

It wasn't long before Calleigh called. "Yes, Cal?"

"I've got a very rough position on the shooter – I'll firm it up, but I thought you'd be waiting…" She gave him the details. "Distance about fifty yards, I'd estimate. It's not definitive."

"That would make sense. Just inside the trees. What was the weapon?"

"Some sort of hunting rifle. And he was a good shot. I'll be able to tell you more later."

Horatio indicated the direction, and he and Eric walked carefully to the tree line.

"Calleigh's not definite, but somewhere here…"

Again, they searched carefully for signs of disturbance. This time, it was easy to spot.

"Here – look." Eric pointed.

The ground was trampled. Not only that, but several small branches had been removed from a bush. Not just removed, but cut. Eric bent to examine the ground.

"Partial footprint – a boot, I'd say…" He took a photograph. "Not much else. He seems too careful to leave shell casings."

"I agree." Horatio took up what he supposed was the shooter's position. Not only did the missing brush leave a clear view of the picnic site, there was also a bigger branch, a perfect support for a rifle barrel. "This is a bit high for me. You're an inch taller – try it…"

Eric took his place. "Taller than me. He's got to be – what? – six three?"

"Six three and a good shot… One shot each victim…"

"Could be military."

"Or just a keen hunter. It's pretty close range…" Horatio mused.

"True. Any good looking for traces on the leaves or branch, d'you think?"

"You can try, but probably not. But take a sample of the bark itself. We might be able to match it at some stage."

Eric spent a while working on the branch, while Horatio walked slowly round the picnic site. When Eric joined him, Horatio asked, "Anything?"

"Nothing really. I mean, no obvious blood or GSR. I've taken samples from all round – bark, leaves, soil… I've got the bits of twig he cut off… So, what now?"

"One more look round here and we can release this place. We're going to have to concentrate on victimology, and motive. And witnesses, if we're lucky. Not much evidence, unfortunately."

In the Hummer, Horatio said thoughtfully, "I think this guy was interrupted."

"How so?"

"Well, I can't prove it, but why wouldn't he wait until Mom and daughter were back and seated?"

"So how do you think it went down?"

"It's a guess, but… the son first… Dad begins to stand up and takes it in the neck, rather than the head. Mom rushes back and is shot before she reaches the others… And our shooter makes a quick getaway… without waiting to take out the daughter."

"What about the 9mm he left?"

"Still guessing? He intended to make it look like a murder-suicide, to deflect suspicion, but had to rush, and just left the gun, and hoped for the best. It all smacks of an interruption. But it's all guesswork…" He sighed.

"You call it guesswork. I call it experience."

Horatio smiled briefly. "I also think it's a hired hit. The suicide bit – probably a good idea that didn't come off. Or he was acting on instructions. I wonder if he had other instructions that he failed to complete?"

"So we'd better hope the 'interruption' comes forward."

"Indeed. Because we've got precious little at the moment."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

DWELLING IN THE PAST

Chapter 4

"The bullets are probably from a .223 Kimber. The striations are almost unique," Calleigh said. She sounded pleased. "But no match in the database."

"Then why so cheerful?" Eric gave her a grin.

"Because Kimbers are quite rare and expensive. We may be able to track down owners. It's not a hit man's weapon, but it is a serious hunter's."

Horatio murmured, "Good job, Calleigh. Can I leave that to you? You know the drill – gun clubs, hunting groups, gun shops…" He smiled. "Right up your street."

"Will do. Did I give you enough to work the site?"

"Yes. We found where he shot from. We think he's a tall guy – six foot three or so."

"Okay. I'm on it."

"What now?" Eric asked. "The others aren't back yet."

"Go and see if Tom has anything else, then start researching the victim. See if his company's involved in anything contentious. I'm going to fit in a quick trip to see the little girl. I doubt I'll be long, but - anything really urgent, call me."

* * *

Horatio stood outside the hospital room with a doctor, looking through the glass at the tiny figure in the bed. "How is she?"

"She's fine, physically."

"Who's that with her?"

"Her aunt – mother's sister. Child Services are happy for them to go home together."

Horatio nodded. "I'm glad she's got someone. I need to talk to her…"

"She's very young, Lieutenant. I doubt you'll get anything coherent."

"I'm not expecting anything. I just need to cover the bases. Let me talk to the aunt first…"

The doctor opened the door, beckoned to the woman, who came out. The doctor made the introductions.

"Ma'am…"

"Lieutenant, have you found out who did this terrible thing?"

"Not yet, ma'am. But we will… we will. Have you any ideas who might have wanted them dead?"

She shook her head. "No. Certainly not my sister. Troy… I don't know… I expect he made enemies. But not this…"

"You didn't like him?"

"I didn't dislike him. I found him rather abrupt and unfriendly, but if Miranda loved him, that was good enough for me."

"Was the marriage good?"

"As far as I could tell. Yes, I believe it was." Her eyes filled with tears. "They've only been married four years. They were so happy when Florence came along. Poor little Florence…"

"So the boy was…"

"Chris. Troy's son. Her stepson."

_Florence. _He smiled inwardly at the name._ Such a grand name for the tiny scrap. _"How's Florence doing?"

"She doesn't understand – she only two and a half. She's missing her Mom, but they say I can take her home this afternoon. I've got a girl a bit older than her…"

"Can I talk to her, ma'am? I just want to know if she saw or heard anything."

"Don't you go upsetting her."

"Come in with me…"

Horatio, careful that his gun was hidden beneath his jacket, sat on the edge of the bed, and smiled at the small solemn face. "Hello, sweetheart…"

Florence was young, a little confused, but clearly a bright child. When Horatio asked what she remembered, she glanced at her aunt for approval, but then said, in a tiny voice, "Bangs… big bangs…"

"Did you see anyone you didn't know?"

She shook her head. "Mommy said to stay where I was."

"And you did."

She nodded.

"Good girl." He stroked her hair briefly. He handed his card to the aunt. "We may need to talk again. Meanwhile, if you want to speak to me, call, anytime. Or if she remembers anything… Take care, ladies."

As he left, he heard the little girl say, "Am I a lady, Auntie?"

* * *

He drove back to the lab. There was nothing to be gained from such a young victim.

He found the layout room full of CSIs, computers, and piles of papers. He smiled. "Any problems?"

"Let's say we needed the warrant," Natalia grinned. "Popular we are not!"

"Leave all that for a moment. What impressions did you get? Natalia?"

She considered. "Shock, obviously. No weeping and wailing. I wouldn't say Troy Matthews was _liked_ – I gather he was a tough boss – but he was respected. The company appears profitable, and the employees are well-paid. No great resentment or dislike – that I noticed… Nothing about his personal life. Or nothing they were willing to share."

"Any bad vibes from anyone?"

"Not really. Sorry."

"Walter? What about the house?"

The big man shrugged. "Neat and tidy. Not excessively so. I mean, not OCD…" He glanced meaningfully at Ryan, who mouthed a rude word at him. "Children's stuff around. Beautiful tree house in the back yard." He chuckled. "I didn't go up there."

"Just as well," Ryan murmured. "They're built for _small_ people…"

At Horatio's stern look, Walter continued, "Neighbors were very shocked. They all seemed to like the wife. Said the kids were 'lovely', well-behaved. They hardly saw the husband – bit of a workaholic, not the social type…"

"That fits."

"Oh, she's the second wife. The boy wasn't hers."

"I know." Horatio explained. "I met Mom's sister at the hospital."

"How's the girl?" Natalia asked.

"Okay, considering. No physical harm. She's going home with her aunt. It's bad, but it could be a lot worse." He sighed. "So we've got nothing at a superficial level. Let's hope there's something in this lot."

"Or a witness," Eric added. "Frank's gone to sort out the calls. All the usual idiots and psychics, I expect."

"I'll go and help him. Look, there's a lot of stuff here." He gestured to the table. "Don't just wade in. Make a plan, decide what you're looking for, keep it straight. Start with the present day and work backwards. And document _everything._" He knew they shouldn't need telling, but he also knew that enthusiasm, and a desire to get a lead on this sort of case, sometimes ran away with them. A reminder didn't hurt. "Eric, is the Mercedes here?"

"Yep – about an hour ago."

"Go and take a quick look at it. I don't expect it to be involved, but we'll check." _Cover the bases…_

Horatio walked down to PD.

Frank Tripp was on the phone, scribbling on a pad. "Thank you, ma'am, I'll keep it in mind." He rang off. "Not."

Horatio sat down. "Usual nut jobs?"

"You'd better believe it! Someone on the other side of the city, who had a 'vision'. I hate witness appeals. Tell me why, as soon as we publish a number, some folk feel compelled to call it?" He looked up. "Good vacation? I haven't seen you since."

"Very good, though I've almost forgotten about it."

"From the man who doesn't like time off…"

"Well, maybe I was wrong. Anyway, any useful calls?"

"One. Guy says he was in that lay-by and heard shots. He says he didn't see anything, but you never know."

"Really? Is he coming in?"

"He's at work, and it's getting late – I've arranged for him to come in tomorrow morning. Sorry, H… I know you'd rather today, but he needed to see his boss. I can't demand he drops everything for us."

"No, you're right. I get a bit… eager…"

"Eager! A dog with a bone, more like."

"Nothing else?"

"Not obviously. You got anything useful?"

"Not a thing. As far as I can tell, he was a good boss, a good husband. Everyone liked the wife. The kids were well-behaved. There's no evidence at the crime scene, other than that a shooter was there. My lot have got mountains of stuff to go through, looking for motive… So, apart from your possible witness, absolutely nothing." Horatio sighed. "Difficult one."

Frank shrugged. "We'll get there. _You'll_ get there."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Francis."

Horatio went back to his office. He'd call it a day soon, look with fresh eyes in the morning – he and his team. Sometimes the overnight break served to re-focus, grant them a better perspective…

He opened his cell, and called Cecile.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

DWELLING IN THE PAST

Chapter 5

Horatio arrived at Cecile's carrying dinner for two, and a bunch of roses.

Cecile laughed. "What are these? Guilty conscience?"

"No, just roses."

"Horatio, they're lovely, but that is such a cliché. A man thinks he might be in trouble, so brings flowers."

"Am I in trouble?"

"No, of course not." She leaned towards him. "Don't flinch – I'm going to kiss you – on the cheek…"

As she did so, Horatio felt the tiniest nip on his ankle. "Ouch!" He looked down at Sébastien's innocent face.

Cecile said in alarm. "Did he just bite you?"

Horatio chuckled. "Not really. Just reminding me of his existence." He bent down to the dog. "Seb, I haven't forgotten you… But you _must not_ bite. You'll end up in the pound. Or on death row."

"I'm sorry," Cecile said. "He's never done that."

"Forget it. It was just a nip." He indicated the food. "There's a piece of fried chicken in there for him."

"He doesn't deserve it. Go onto the balcony – I'll put the food out."

They ate more or less in silence. It was a warm, windless evening and Horatio began to relax. He had half-expected a cold shoulder from Cecile and was relieved that he was warmly welcomed – by her if not by Seb. He glanced down at the terrier, who had finished his chicken, and was licking his paws.

"That was good," Cecile said, as she collected the plates. "Stay there . I'll make coffee."

Sébastien immediately jumped on to Horatio's lap and gave his face a chicken-scented lick.

"Oh, you're after forgiveness now, are you, you little devil?" He looked into the dog's brown eyes. "What are you thinking, dog? I wish you could talk…"

Cecile returned with a pot of coffee. She chuckled and indicated Sébastien. "You're friends now?"

"It was the chicken that did it…" He helped himself to coffee. "I'm sorry I stood you up yesterday."

"I presume it was the Matthews family murders. It's front page news."

"Yep. Difficult one. No clear motive. Probably a hired hit."

"So Mr Matthews upset someone?"

"It must have been some upset to hit the whole family. Even his son… And it was pure luck that they didn't get his baby daughter too."

Cecile was silent for a few moments. "Can I give you an opinion? A professional opinion?"

"Certainly."

"I would look for someone whose own family was somehow… damaged… An eye for an eye…"

Horatio nodded thoughtfully. "Makes sense. Thank you." He hesitated. "We should talk about Saturday…"

"We don't have to. We can just forget about it, if you want."

"I don't want. I'm just not very good at this sort of thing."

"What? Emotions? You're not that bad. Not as bad as some men. Believe me, I would know."

"I suppose you would. We can't just forget it. It will sort of… hang… between us. And I want to explain. How I acted, what I said… wasn't what I meant."

She smiled. "All right, but I think I should explain first. Since I made the first move."

"All right, but you really don't have anything to explain."

"Hear me out." She appeared to be choosing her words carefully. "When I asked you to stay, my immediate thought wasn't about sex. I just thought how pleasant it would be not to have an empty bed… To have someone asleep beside me. To have someone to make breakfast for… Of course, there might be sex as well…" She smiled. "I'm French, after all – we don't believe that physical intimacy ends at sixty…"

"You think I do?" Horatio said softly.

"I don't know, Horatio. I thought… I must seem very old to you."

"There's not much between us. Age has nothing to do with it, although…" He laughed. "It's a long time since I've… er… done it."

"Longer for me, I suspect."

"They say it's like riding a bicycle – you don't forget."

"Why do they say that? It's not at all like riding a bicycle! We're wandering off the subject. You were always good at diversionary tactics."

He held up his hands. "Not intentional. Go on."

"I haven't got much more to say. You've become very dear to me. You're a wonderful and sensitive man. I think I forgot how sensitive. I startled you. I was rather… forward… and you reacted accordingly."

In the ensuing silence, she said softly, "Your turn."

Horatio sighed, murmured almost inaudibly, "Oh, shit…" and stroked Sébastien. "Help me out, Seb." He looked at Cecile. "You caught me completely by surprise. I don't know why. I know we've become close. You're really my closest friend. I love the time we spend together…"

"But?"

"No, no buts. Just because I was slow on the uptake…"

"Horatio, you are not a man who is 'slow on the uptake'."

"Well, I must have been."

"I think I scared you," Cecile murmured.

He frowned. "I'm not a man who scares easily either."

"Oh, I could point a gun at you and you'd be completely cool about it. But I think a little intimacy frightened you."

"You're sounding like my therapist again… If I was 'frightened', it was of losing our friendship."

"That's not a very mature attitude."

"Are you calling me childish?"

She put her hand on his knee. "Of course not. I'm just suggesting that friendship and intimacy don't have to be mutually exclusive."

"Maybe I haven't found that to be so."

"Then, my dear, you've been unlucky. I'm sorry, I've interrupted you and turned 'therapist'. So tell me what you really meant."

He sighed. "I'll try. My past… relationships have been with women younger than myself – quite a lot younger in some cases… The intimate bit was predominant, the friendship… not so much. In fact, you're virtually the first deep friendship I've had for… a very long time. I really don't want to lose it."

"You won't, I promise." When he was silent, she added, "You're not convinced…"

"I'm sorry. I want to be."

"May I go 'therapist' again? The social convention nowadays, among young people anyway, seems to be that sex is the most important thing. Sex first, friendship – if you're lucky – later. Almost a complete reversal of what used to be true. Your Eric, for example – I would wager that he sees a pretty girl and thinks 'sex', not 'I wonder if I'd like her as a friend'."

Horatio laughed. "Eric's a good example. Sometimes he doesn't even know their names."

"Exactly. Well, our generation was brought up differently. I know, as a society, we've got beyond the point where you've got to be married before you can be intimate, but I think we – women, at least – mature women - usually like to know the man, and be friends before… Maybe it's more true for women."

"You know you're making us sound like senior citizens," Horatio said mildly.

"Well, I am, of course. But that's not what I meant, and you're deliberately misunderstanding me. I meant that we should both have a mature attitude. That our friendship is important, and solid, and whether we have sex or decide not to, it will stay that way."

He nodded slowly. "Okay, I believe you."

"But I won't try to talk you into something you don't want. Not that I think that's possible with you."

"Then ask me again and I promise not to run like a frightened rabbit. Oh," he added quickly, "not tonight. I've got to be at work early to see a possible witness."

"I'll ask you, when I feel the time's right."

"Thank you. Don't leave it too long." He smiled. "I'm glad that's over. I thought… you might not want me around anymore."

"How could you possibly think that? I won't lie. You did upset me. But, when I thought about it, I was really upset with myself. I embarrassed you. And myself."

"Can I ask you something? You were upset, and it was to do with me – do you think that's why Seb's a bit off with me?"

"It could be. If so, he's very clever."

"Did you doubt it?" Horatio stroked the little dog. "One other thing – doesn't he sleep on your bed?"

"On it. In it."

"So how will he react to me? _If_ you ask me again?"

Cecile chuckled. "We'll find out. _If_ I ask you…"

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

DWELLING IN THE PAST

Chapter 6

"Mr Borkowski, thank you for coming in."

Andrzej Borkowski, a cheerful individual in his thirties, was full of apologies for not coming in the day before. Despite his name, his voice had almost no trace of an accent.

"Your name… Polish?" Horatio asked.

"Second generation. Call me Andy – everyone does. I'm sorry about yesterday – my boss wouldn't like to hear I'm 'helping police'."

"Oh, why is that?" Frank asked suspiciously.

"Nothing like that. He just doesn't believe in getting involved in other people's business. Or his employees taking time out. He's more Polish than me. 'Keep your head down and work hard'."

"So… Tell us what you saw on Sunday."

"I didn't see very much. It may not be any help."

"Just tell us everything, Andy. We'll judge how useful it is."

"We'd been out for the day – me and Ana, my wife. We were coming home but we had some sandwiches and some tea left, so we thought to stop by that clearing and enjoy another half-hour before going home. The weather was so good… And Monday comes all too soon."

Horatio sensed impatience from Frank, but he knew some people liked to tell their stories at their own pace.

"We stopped in the lay-by. We've stopped there before."

This time Horatio interrupted. "What other vehicles were there?"

"A silver Mercedes M-class. Fairly new. That's all. And right at the end of the lay-by, a motorcycle. A big Yamaha sports tourer, all black. I'm not sure of the model," he added apologetically.

Horatio smiled. "You've got a keen eye."

"I like cars. I like motorcycles even more – I used to ride them, until I met Ana. I couldn't get her on one for love or money."

"All right. Go on."

"There was no one around. We wondered if the clearing would be empty, and decided to look. We got out, locked the car. Then we heard shots, very close. Ana was alarmed. I said it was just people hunting."

"It's out of season," Frank murmured.

Andrzej shrugged. "That doesn't always stop people. I mean, what else was I to think? Anyway, Ana said they shouldn't be shooting so close to the road, and she didn't want to stop if there was hunting going on. So we got in the car and drove on. That's all, really."

"How many shots?"

"Three. Definitely."

"And you didn't see anyone?"

"Well, one or two cars went by on the road, that's all. But we'd only gone half a mile or so, and the Yamaha roared past us. Fast."

"Did you see the rider?"

"Yes, but it's no help. He was in leathers, and his helmet had a full face visor. I can't even say if he was black or white. He was tall, I can tell you that." He shook his head ruefully. "See? I'm not much help. You think the motorcycle guy was the shooter?"

"We don't know," Frank said. "But now he's someone we need to find and eliminate. I don't suppose your keen eye recalled any license plates?"

"No, sorry. It was a Florida one, I'm sure of that. I just wish I'd done more! If I'd gone to help…"

"Andy, it was already over once those shots were fired," Horatio said gently. "And if you had gone into that clearing, we'd almost certainly be looking at another body."

"So is any of this any help?"

"It might be. We think the shooter was interrupted. Probably he heard your car – the doors being shut, perhaps… Or your voices. That works in our favor."

The three men stood up.

"Thanks, Mr Bor – Andy." Frank extended his hand. "We appreciate it. If you think of anything else, the smallest detail… The model of the bike, for example."

"And," Horatio added, shaking hands, "if you have any trouble with your boss about spending time with us, let me know."

Frank turned to Horatio. "What d'you think?"

"It backs up the scene. And it points to motorcycle guy as the shooter. I mean, he had to make a getaway, and there were no other vehicles… It's a start, anyway."

"So we look for black Yamahas?"

"Of which there are thousands, I have no doubt…" Horatio drummed his fingers on his badge, thinking. "Calleigh thinks she might have a lead on the weapon. If it pans out, we'll cross check with Yamaha owners. Apart from that, we'll keep looking for motive. Thanks, Frank…"

* * *

Horatio walked down to the firearms lab, where he found Calleigh pouring over notes she had obviously made the previous day.

"How did you get on?"

"Not great," Calleigh said. "Only two dealers in Dade actually sell Kimbers, and they were able to give me records of who they've sold to… At least for the last three years. I'll check those out. I could ask other counties to check their dealers. Trouble is, a gun like that will last for years. They're considered investments. Do you know, we haven't even got one in the vault? So, I contacted some gun clubs and such. They're less than forthcoming. There seems a built-in resistance to discussing their members with the police. But they all said they didn't know anyone who used a Kimber."

Horatio nodded thoughtfully. "So he's a loner. And you're sure about the Kimber connection?"

"Fairly, but not one hundred per cent. I've confirmed that the three bullets came from the same rifle, but we knew that. I'm going to call the manufacturer – see if they can tell me anything useful."

"Have you looked at the 9mm?"

"It's a red herring. Hasn't been fired in months. No serial number. It did fire, once I put a bit of oil on it, and I did get a match for the bullet on the database, but don't raise your hopes. It's been used in various low level stuff – several years ago. It's just a cheap weapon that's been passed round on the streets… And it hasn't shown up anywhere for about two and a half years, 'til now."

"Okay, put it to one side for now. If we have to trace its last owner, we'll try. Stick with the Kimber." He went to leave, then turned back. "Would it help if we had a Kimber here?"

Calleigh's eyes lit up. "Can you do that?"

"I don't know. Leave it with me."

Smiling to himself, he went to find Eric. "Got anything?"

"A small amount of GSR on some of the leaves. And what might be a bit of a fingerprint on a leaf that had been cut off – too smudged and indistinct to work with. _But_…" He grinned. "Saving the best for last… a tiny blood smear…"

"Where?"

"On a leaf. I think the twigs were cut off with something like a pocket-knife… and he cut himself. I've run it, but -"

"I know, it's not on file. That's all I'm hearing today."

"Sorry, boss."

"No, it's something. The boot print…"

"Strange wear pattern – a smooth mark right across it."

"Could it be a motorcycle boot?"

"Of course! Why didn't I see that? Yes, it could."

Finally, Horatio went to the layout room. It was silent, bar the tapping of keyboards, and the occasional rustle of paper. Natalia, Ryan and Walter were deeply engrossed. Horatio decided against asking for a progress report - he'd hear if they found anything – and returned to his office.

He had an uncomfortable feeling of leads leading nowhere. True, it was early days, but the lack of anything concrete was already worrying him. And he had three CSIs effectively going through paperwork. Not really forensics at all. Still, he had no option. He made a coffee, and sat, nursing the mug, deep in thought. Crimes didn't get much more difficult; not only was the shooting probably carried out by someone unrelated to the victims, but it was also done out in the open. Open-air crime scenes were the worst for evidence. He sighed, then smiled. _It's only Tuesday – what do you expect?_

* * *

Later that day, he returned to the firearms lab. Without a word, he handed Calleigh a long-barrelled rifle.

"Oh…" She appeared momentarily speechless. "Oh my… What a beautiful weapon…" She caressed the satiny walnut stock.

"It's a .223, but whether it's the right model…"

"Is it ours?"

Horatio grinned. "Not exactly. It takes longer than this to get a requisition through. At this moment, it's mine. And yours. I hope it breaks the case."

"I didn't promise that. Oh, it's beautiful." She lifted it to sight along the barrel. "Isn't it light?"

"With a kick like a mule, according to the dealer. Go on, play with it, but keep an eye on why it's here."

He left his ballistics expert cold-firing the rifle. He knew he was indulging her, but hoped it might actually help the case.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

DWELLING IN THE PAST

Chapter 7

It was Friday and Horatio was depressed. A week had passed and they were still far away from solving anything. In his mind, he summarised what they had; a probable DNA profile of the shooter, his mode of transport, that he was tall… And that was all. Calleigh's proof – it wasn't proof, but he was convinced – that the weapon was the relatively rare Kimber. She had shown him a comparison of the murder bullet and one from the new gun. Obviously not an exact match, but the class characteristics were identical. She had spent a week tracing owners of that weapon. And eliminated all of them.

Meanwhile, his co-workers were searching background for possible motives; they had plowed on… and on… without complaint. They had looked at family history, company records, emails, and cell phone records. Facebook and Twitter… Which had at least proved how someone might have learned the whereabouts of the picnic. They were currently five years into the past, and nothing had jumped out at them. He had expected moans from them about the boring job, but got none. He supposed that being indoors, while Miami had been battered by storms for the last two days, probably had something to do with it. That, and the fact that, like him, they hadn't any better ideas.

That morning, he had attended a funeral, and the Matthews family was now at rest. Except they wouldn't be, in his mind, until he had found out what had happened.

He was tired. Tired enough that his keen brain was slowing down, and his eyesight kept going unfocussed. He wondered briefly if he needed eye-glasses. And he had stood in the rain at the funeral, and his joints ached. _Getting old, Horatio._ He had intended to work Saturday, but realised he wouldn't be very productive unless he paused, re-grouped, and thought of some new approaches. If there was anything good about this week, it was the lack of new cases… One minor road rage incident, resulting in a serious assault… He had sent Eric to do the necessary. Aside from that…

He was about to finish for the day, when Calleigh knocked at the door. He looked up hopefully.

"Nothing new, boss, sorry," she said quickly.

"No worries. I feel we're getting bogged down… We'll make a fresh start next week."

"I wanted to ask you a favor."

"Can you take the gun home?"

"Horatio, you know me too well!" She colored slightly. "It's just… the weather's supposed to clear up, and I wanted to do some target shooting, and…"

"You can take it," he smiled.

"I'll look after it."

"Calleigh, I don't doubt it. Have a good weekend." _Well, someone was happy…_

* * *

Horatio parked his car and sprinted through the driving rain to the entrance of the apartment block. He took the elevator to Cecile's floor.

She answered the door looking surprised. "I didn't expect to see you."

"I said I'd try to get here."

"I know. I just meant the weather." As if in answer, there was a flash of lightning and the lights flickered. "Come in. Have you eaten?"

"I'm not really hungry."

"No? Are you okay?"

"Just tired. It's been a really long frustrating week." He followed her into the living room, as a roll of thunder rattled the windows. He sat down wearily, and looked round. "Someone's missing."

"He's under the bed."

"Doesn't like storms, huh?" He leant back and closed his eyes.

"Neither do I," Cecile said quietly. "I'm glad you're here."

"Really?" He opened his eyes again. "You're scared of storms?"

"Not scared… Just, not comfortable. I swear this building sways in high winds."

"It probably does. They're supposed to." A strong gust hit the building, heavy rain battering the windows. He saw Cecile shiver. "Come here."

Cecile sat down beside him and he put an arm round her shoulders. She rested her head on his shoulder. "Are you sure you don't want to eat?"

"Later, maybe…" He closed his eyes again.

After a couple more cracks of thunder, the storm seemed to recede. The rain was still intense, but the thunder moved further away. A short while later, he felt a small body land on his lap and settle down with a small snuffle.

"Hello, Seb," he murmured. "Yes, you can come out now."

He didn't mean to fall asleep, but, in that warm comfortable apartment, with a friend beside him, a dog on his lap, and rain lashing the windows, the tensions of the week drained out of him like pulling a plug, and with them, most of his remaining energy.

He woke only when Cecile got up. He rubbed his eyes. "I'm sorry… I didn't mean –"

"Sshh. It's all right. You _were_ tired."

"How long have I been asleep?" He peered blearily at his watch.

"Only an hour. I'm just going to feed Sébastien. Can I feed you too? Just something light?"

He nodded. "You got any Tylenol?"

"In the bathroom cabinet. Headache?"

"Yep."

"When did you last eat? It's probably a hunger headache." But she gently felt his forehead.

He swatted her hand away, but softened the gesture with a smile. "Don't fuss me, woman!"

Cecile shook her head but said no more. She went into the kitchen, and, after visiting the bathroom, Horatio followed her. He leaned on the counter, watching as she fed her dog, then set about cooking mushrooms, chicken and rice.

"What are you making?"

"Just a sort of risotto… Very easy on the stomach."

"I'm okay, you know."

"You're pale." She looked at him. "Is the case not going well?"

"It's hardly going at all. We're hitting dead end after dead end. We're going through his family history and his work history, looking for motives… We've gone back five years so far."

"So you think someone in his background's been holding a grudge?"

"I can't think of anything else. Would someone hold a grudge that long?"

Cecile chuckled. "Oh yes. Longer, much longer." She went back to her cooking. "Do you want some wine?"

"I don't think I'd better."

"Go back and sit down – I'll be finished in a minute."

As he ate, Horatio almost immediately started to feel better, more alert. He acknowledged to himself – though not aloud – that it was his own fault that his strength had deserted him. He had eaten nothing that day but a hasty breakfast. He had attended the funeral of the Matthews family that morning. And he had spent the afternoon reluctantly putting the evidence together for another case, due in court the following week, while his mind was still on the murders.

"Feel better?" Cecile asked, collecting his plate.

"Yes, thanks. Don't worry about me. I'll have my second wind by Monday."

They settled back on the sofa, switching on the television, but only half-watching. After a while, Horatio found his eyelids drooping.

He yawned. "I'd better go."

"If I say you don't have to, don't bolt."

"I'm not bolting, I'm just tired. I'm not up to –"

She interrupted him. "I'm not asking for a performance. You can't keep your eyes open, and the weather's horrible. I just don't think you should drive. Go on, go and get into my bed, while I take Sébastien out for a quick bathroom break."

"I'll take him. As you said, the weather's horrible."

"And I have a raincoat. He'll only get five minutes." She looked at him questioningly. "Will you stay?"

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

DWELLING IN THE PAST

Chapter 8

Horatio awoke to bright sunlight streaming into the room, the smell of breakfast, and someone gently shaking his shoulder.

It took him a moment to get his bearings before it all flooded back. So, he'd spent the night in Cecile's bed. And he couldn't remember a thing about it! "Cecile? What time is it?"

"About ten. I won't ask if you slept well. I know you did."

"I'm sorry. I don't even remember you coming back with the dog…"

"Don't apologise. You were clearly exhausted."

Horatio, having ascertained that he was wearing a t-shirt, pulled himself into a sitting position. "You're dressed." There was a faint note of disappointment in his voice.

"I've been out with Sébastien."

"What's the weather doing?"

"Bright. Warm. Everything's glittering, the roads are steaming. Bits of palm tree all over the place…"

"I'll get up."

"No, you won't. I'll bring you breakfast in bed. Don't get used to it – it's one time only."

He smiled. "Fair enough." It occurred to him that he hadn't washed, or cleaned his teeth, that he had no fresh clothes… Couldn't shave. Events had rather caught up with him the night before. In contrast, Cecile looked chic and elegant as always, in brown slacks and an oversized cream shirt – even just for dog walking. It made him feel scruffy, so, for now, he was content to stay in bed, rather than put dirty clothes back on an unwashed body.

His breakfast tray held fruit juice, waffles, scrambled eggs, and thin crispy bacon.

"You've eaten?" he asked.

"I have. But I'll have toast and coffee with you, when you're ready. Eat."

He nodded and began to eat. Toast and coffee was usually _all_ he had, but he found he was hungry enough to do Cecile's cooking justice.

As he finished, he murmured, "So I didn't assault you in my sleep?"

"Sadly not. You slept the sleep of the dead." She frowned. "I suppose that's not a diplomatic thing to say to a police officer."

"It's okay. Where did Seb sleep?"

"Between us. Acting as a chaperone."

Horatio laughed. "Well, that would work… If he decided to attack from that position…"

It was gone eleven by the time they had finished the long leisurely breakfast. Cecile collected the remains onto the tray. "Right, are you going to get up?"

"I am. But I'm going straight home." He reached out and touched her hand. "Don't look like that. I need to change and shave…" He ran a hand over a stubbly chin.

"I don't mind, you know."

"I do."

"You're not going to work, are you?"

"I'm not. Tell you what, I'll come back later, and we can take Seb for a walk. How would that be?"

Cecile went to clear up the kitchen, while Horatio quickly dressed and went to the door. "See you later. Oh, Cecile… thank you for looking after me yesterday." He refrained from kissing her, conscious of his uncleaned teeth and stale breath. Feeling about one hundred per cent better than the previous day, he trotted down the stairs and out to the car.

* * *

With half the day already gone, he managed to pass the rest of Saturday without really thinking about his difficult case at all. By Sunday, however, he found himself dwelling on it. He needed to formulate some new ideas for the team to work on come Monday.

He sat on the balcony of his condo, scribbling ideas on a notepad. There were actually two separate lines of investigation. First, identify and find the shooter; second, find who employed him, and why. They had little on either. They needed 'a major break'. Horatio smiled to himself. Breaks occurred more often in TV dramas, when scriptwriters wanted an easy solution, than in real life. He couldn't rely on one appearing. Police work was more often a long hard slog.

He cast his mind over what he had learned about Troy Matthews; a fairly ruthless businessman, but well on the right side of the law. In fact, in the five years he'd run his business in Miami, he had been more or less a model citizen. There were no reports of domestic incidents… There was no jealous ex-wife – his first wife had been killed in a speedboat accident. He wondered why Troy had moved to Miami. Ryan had found out that his previous company – with a different name – had been located in Tampa. They had both surmised that the move had been prompted by his wife's demise. But maybe not… He'd investigate further tomorrow.

He did have one idea regarding the shooter. The remote woodland crime scene clearly had cell phone coverage – Eric had called him from there… He suspected it was covered by very few towers, possibly only one. He wondered if they could identify calls routed through it just before the crime. Of course, the shooter might not have called anyone. But he might… He decided to let Eric and Dave Benton loose on that one… _Clutching at straws, Horatio… _But what else did he have at the moment?

* * *

He was at work early on Monday. On an impulse, he called the police chief in Tampa, a man he knew, if not well, at least enough to be on first name terms with.

After exchanging pleasantries, Horatio asked, "What do you remember about Troy Matthews?"

"I read about that… Nasty one…"

"Nasty one with very few leads."

"Matthews… mmm… It's years since he was in my neck of the woods."

"Five years."

"That's right – his wife was killed."

"Anything suspicious about it?"

"Not that I remember. Why?"

"Because something in his past caused this." Horatio hesitated. "I want a favor, Doug."

"Horatio, I'm snowed under here…"

"That's okay. I want to send a couple of my people…"

"To do what?"

He recognised the proprietorial suspicion in the other man's voice. He'd be the same. "Nothing much… A trawl through old newspaper reports. Quick look at your records on the wife. And on Troy, if you've got anything. Talk to one or two acquaintances…"

There was a long pause. "All right. As long as it's just looking and talking. Remember they've got no jurisdiction here."

"I know. They'll have strict instructions. And they'll come and introduce themselves to you first. Thank you, Doug. Do the same for you."

There was an ironic chuckle. "Would you now…"

Horatio had another motive for what he'd just requested. He wanted to give Ryan, Natalia and Walter jobs outside the lab, before he had a mutiny. He thought he'd offer the trip to Nat and Ryan. He'd find something for Walter… If there was more record-checking needed, he'd do it himself. Or rope Eric in.

He was about to go and inform them, when Calleigh appeared. She was beaming.

"Good weekend?"

"Oh yes. That Kimber isn't the easiest, but I nailed it eventually."

"Well, I don't imagine a gun exists that would get the better of you, Calleigh."

She chuckled. "Boss, we just might have a break."

In view of his earlier thoughts, he had to smile. "Really? Tell me…"

"Where I shoot – I know them pretty well there… so they talk to me. This guy – Wally – he just said casually that it was the second Kimber he'd seen in as many weeks. I inquired a bit more, and it seems a guy who's not a member came in and asked for a couple of hours on the range to get back into the swing of it before the hunting season."

"Mmm… Interesting. What's the procedure for non-members?"

"Sign in, produce ID and pay."

"Did Wally remember what the guy looked like?"

"White. Dark-haired. Tall. But Wally's just the clean-up guy and a bit vague. He didn't know if Kimber-man rode a motorcycle – there were several in the parking lot. I got a quick look at the sign-in. The signature's not clear. I think the name's Barnes or Bates or similar. I really need to go back, check what ID was used, and whether he used a credit card. I need to talk to Horse, the boss – he wasn't there yesterday."

"Horse?"

"Everyone calls him that. Greg Galloway. Gee-Gee – Brit slang for horse? And he wears a long ponytail."

Horatio chuckled. "It's not a place you checked earlier then?"

"Ah, that's the problem. It's in Broward, not Dade."

"Leave it with me. It's a morning for asking favors. I'll give the Sheriff a call."

He wondered what his own bosses would think about most of his team working outside their own jurisdiction. Still, too bad… You had to go where the evidence took you.

He picked up the phone to call Broward County.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

DWELLING IN THE PAST

Chapter 9

Horatio put his hands on his hips, and surveyed his almost empty lab. Ryan and Natalia were at home, collecting a few things for their trip. He had arranged a flight to Tampa for them later that day, overnight hotel rooms, and a return the following evening. Not much time, but he thought that was probably as long as Tampa PD would tolerate interlopers. He had despatched Calleigh to Broward, with strict instructions to collect a Deputy if she was going outside the gun range. Everyone had been reminded about jurisdictions, and 'treading on toes'. He was keeping his fingers crossed that they a) found the break he so sorely needed and b) avoided diplomatic incidents with his neighbors. So now he just had to wait and hope for results.

He set Eric working on cell phone records, for calls made around the crime scene. That left a rather forlorn Walter… and Horatio was grateful when Tom Loman called, to report suspicious circumstances at a fatal car wreck he was attending.

Leaving Eric in charge of the depleted lab, he collected Walter, and headed out. They worked the scene together for a couple of hours, finding exactly why the ME was suspicious. The fatality had been found alone, in the driving seat, but the blood on the passenger side indicated another person in the vehicle. They found, and processed, a little blood and some footprints outside the car, and watched as the body was carefully removed for autopsy.

"Right," Horatio said at last. "Let's get this wreck back to the lab. Can I leave you to carry on with this alone once we get back? I've got things to do…"

"Of course, boss." Walter sounded happier, and Horatio smiled to himself.

"Start with chasing Tom. See if there's anything obvious on the body. Like – was he actually the driver… Then start on the car. Call Eric if you have problems. Okay?"

"Yep, I'm good."

Calleigh returned just after lunch. "I know you don't believe in co-incidences, and it may be just that, but…"

"Tell me."

"Horse was there – he's a bit of an oddball, but he's straight enough. He remembered the guy, said he signed in with a driver's license, and paid with a credit card. And he thinks he rode a motorcycle, although he's not sure. But he noted the customer number on the license, so I ran it."

"False one?"

"Not at all. It could be stolen, but it looks genuine. May I…?" she indicated his computer.

Horatio nodded, and turned it towards her. Together, they looked at the license for one Ed Bates, and the photo of a thin-faced dark-haired white male. And an address. In Dade County.

Horatio grinned. "Oh, look at that. Our jurisdiction at last."

"Shall I ask homicide to bring him in?"

Horatio considered. "They'd better invite him courteously – he could be a completely innocent man. We'll make some excuse that we're checking all gun club visitors in the area, just for elimination… Better still, Calleigh, you go – take PD with you. You'll be more diplomatic about it. Be careful. He may well be innocent, or he may just be an assassin."

Once Calleigh had gone, Horatio went into his very quiet lab to find a computer terminal that would allow him access to full criminal files. Ed Bates had a record – but not much of one – three speeding tickets and a citation for hunting out of season. It fit a motorcycle-riding hunter, but not exactly a ruthless killer.

* * *

Ed Bates arrived willingly, keen to help. Fingerprints? No problem. DNA? No problem. His boots? Ditto. He was pleasant without being over-eager. Horatio was almost ready to rule him out.

Then Bates said helpfully, "I think I know why you're interested in me."

"You do?"

"The Matthews killing. You found that I was at that clearing, didn't you? But I can explain, and I had nothing to do with the murders."

"Explain then." Horatio just managed to keep his best poker face in place, despite the fact that the forensics details of the murder scene had not been released to the public.

"Hunting season starts soon. I was just doing a recce of the clearing… three or four weeks ago. Finding a good spot. I've shot there before."

"You shouldn't have. It's far too close to a public road."

"I know… but early in the morning, the road's quiet… and deer come wandering through… But that's why I was there."

"And what weapon do you use?"

"An old Remington." He looked wistful. "It's done well but I need to replace it."

"What model?" Calleigh put in quietly.

There was the briefest hesitation. "I don't rightly know. It was my Dad's. It's a .22 – that's all I know."

"What do you do for a living, Ed?" Horatio asked.

"IT. Computers."

"Do you own a motorcycle?"

"Yamaha Midnight Star. Why? Have I been reported for speeding again?" Ed Bates spread his hands. "Look, guys, I've got nothing to hide. I was going to come in and tell you anyway. Can I go?"

Horatio stood up. "One more question – where were you on Saturday, the twenty-eighth?"

"Not sure… At home probably. Alone. I'm not a great one for socialising. No alibi, sorry. Now can I go?"

Horatio nodded. "Don't go far."

He shrugged to Calleigh as an officer showed Ed Bates out. "What can I do, Cal? I've got nothing to hold him." He chuckled. "Well, I've rarely had such a helpful suspect."

"Do you believe him?"

"Not a word. You?"

"It was just about credible – though unlikely – until he was so vague about his gun. What keen hunter wouldn't have chapter and verse on his weapon? So what now?"

"Process his DNA. Just make sure he is a match, though he's not denying he was there. He lied about when. The cut-off leaves we found were fresh, not three or four weeks old." Horatio sighed. "I'm going to talk to Frank – see how much more I'll need to get a warrant."

"Looking for the gun?"

"Yes. It's the only thing that will tie him to the shootings. Otherwise it's circumstantial. Or he's telling the truth."

""If it is a Kimber, I doubt it's at the bottom of a river… He'll have hidden it…"

"I've no doubt. There may be other stuff – if it was a paid hit, there's a lot of money somewhere. There may be contacts on his computer, or cell, that'll tell us who he's working for. Or," He smiled ruefully, "we may find an old Remington and an empty bank account."

"I'll take this sample to the lab."

"Then get on the computer and see if you can find any ties between Bates and Matthews. Or Bates and Tampa."

* * *

Frank Tripp was as surprised as Horatio, when he recounted the interview. "Why'd he confess to being there?"

"I guess he thought we already knew, and he'd got his story ready. Or maybe he's a cocky bastard, and thinks he'll stay one step ahead. Or maybe he's telling the truth and it's all co-incidence."

"And you just 'came across him'?"

"Calleigh did. I grant you it seems a bit too good to be true, but I can't look a gift horse in the mouth. Anyway, if she'd found him while asking around gun clubs last week, we wouldn't think it was odd. Frank, I need a warrant to search his place. And his computer and cell phone. Oh, and bank accounts."

"You don't want much, do you, pal!"

"What do I need to get one?"

Frank stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Match the DNA… And the boot print."

"In hand…"

"Right. Well, Judge Farina called me earlier, wanting a progress report. Gave me a real ear-bashing - Matthews was a golfing partner of his. So he can hardly refuse a warrant. I'll have it by tomorrow…"

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

DWELLING IN THE PAST

Chapter 10

While Frank took Bates into holding, Horatio and Eric searched his property. It was moderately tidy, no evidence of bachelor parties, drugs or excess alcohol. Horatio surmised that the man was, as he had first thought, a loner. His first target was the top-of-the-range laptop, which he would take back to Dave Benton. He had no doubt that anything incriminating had been erased, but suspected his own expert might have ways and means to uncover it. It rather depended whose computer skills were greatest – Ed Bates or Dave Benton.

The next point of interest was the gun cabinet, hidden in a closet in the bedroom. It contained two Remington rifles, two scopes, and a box of ammunition. No Kimber – he didn't expect there to be.

"Bag it all," Horatio instructed Eric. "See if Calleigh can make anything of it. Now… where would you hide your expensive rifle?"

They searched the house from top to bottom. It wasn't large, so hiding places were limited. Eric even emptied a large chest freezer, but uncovered only jumbo packs of burgers, sausages and fries, and frosted-up, rock-hard packages of god-knew-what. Nothing remotely like a rifle. He tipped everything back in and warmed his frozen hands under his armpits.

Horatio chuckled. "Nothing?"

"No. Damn – I was sure it would be in there. Perhaps he's given it to a friend for safe-keeping."

"Maybe. I don't think it's here. Right, I want any paperwork – bank statements, bills, everything. Don't bother looking at it individually – we'll take it all back and study it at the lab."

As they drove back, Eric seemed disheartened. "I wish we'd found that rifle."

Horatio sounded more buoyant. "We've got plenty to work on."

"You still sure he's the shooter?"

"I am. He's guilty as hell. Trouble is, we can't hold him that long without arresting him. I suspect everything's on that computer… or was…"

"Dave'll find it."

"You know Ed Bates is in computers too…"

"Dave's the best," Eric said confidently.

"You know what really worries me?" Horatio said. "I'm sure we can nail Bates as the shooter, but I'm equally sure he was hired, and I haven't got a clue who by or why."

"Perhaps the Tampa team will bring you something."

"Let's hope so."

As they walked into the lab, Frank met them. "Your boy's lawyered up," he said. "And he _really_ wants to be let out."

"I'll bet he does. I need as much time as possible, Frank."

"Oh, I'm not concerned yet. Judge Farina's being very accommodating. Did you get anything?"

"Not the weapon. But loads to go through… I'll go and see who wants overtime…"

* * *

While Dave Benton worked on the computer, and Calleigh on the weapons, Horatio and Eric took the bag of papers into the layout room and tipped them out on the table.

"He didn't believe in filing," Eric muttered, pulling a bundle towards him. "There's years of stuff here."

"Bank statements and credit card bills, you can stay with recent – we're only looking for unusually large deposits. General stuff – into date order, I suppose."

They had been working for over an hour when Calleigh came to find them. "Neither of the Remingtons has been fired recently. In fact, the older one doesn't fire at all. The ammo's interesting. It matches the type used on the Matthews family. And I don't think we've got the gun that fired it."

Horatio nodded. "Thanks, Cal." He glanced at his watch. "You go home – fresh start tomorrow." He looked at Eric. "More circumstantial evidence… Go and see how Dave's getting on. See if he's willing to stay on a bit."

When he came back, Eric reported that Dave Benton was 'throwing every piece of software he had' at the target computer, so far without success. "He says the guy's good, but he hasn't given up and, yes, he's happy to stay on." He sat down again.

He had barely started again before he said softly, "Bingo!"

Horatio looked up. "What?"

Eric pushed a piece of paper across to him. It was a receipt, some two years old, for a Kimber Longmaster Classic Rifle.

Horatio grinned. "Got him!"

"Still circumstantial, without the gun itself."

"But enough for an arrest, I reckon. And another interview."

* * *

Dave Benton looked up as his boss came in. "Boss…"

"Anything?"

"Sort of. I've found an email account that's been deleted – it's not the one he uses regularly. It was created about two months ago, and deleted a few days ago. I've even found the contents, but it's encrypted somehow. He was ultra-cautious… All I've decoded from it is a name, 'Miami Fixer'."

"What is that? A company?"

"Not that Google knows. I'll keep on at it. I feel I'm getting really close."

"I think maybe we should leave it till tomorrow… We've got enough to hold our guy for now, so the immediate urgency is off."

"Okay, boss, whatever you say. I don't mind going on…"

"I know, and I appreciate it."

"Oh, H, I almost forgot. I found a pic for you." He handed him a printout of a fairly mediocre photograph. Of Ed Bates, his foot on a presumably dead wild boar, and a rifle on his shoulder. The caption read 'Awesome!'

* * *

Horatio drove into work that Wednesday feeling, or maybe just hoping, that the day would be a case-breaker. His first port of call was to PD, and Frank.

"Arrest him, Frank. Suspicion of first degree murder, et cetera."

"You've got enough?"

Horatio shrugged. "Still only circumstantial, although masses of it. I'm relying on him giving me something… Can we interview this afternoon?"

"Look forward to it."

He called Ryan and Natalia into his office. "How was Tampa?"

"Raining," Ryan replied. "Not that we've been outside…"

"So – tell me what you looked at and anything you found."

Natalia began. "We looked at the wife's accident. It was just that, I think. A fifteen-year old youth was charged with negligent homicide. We looked at police records for the husband. He was less squeaky-clean back then…"

Horatio raised his eyebrows.

"Nothing very major," Ryan put in. "A couple of assaults – he obviously had a temper. We found much more at the local newspaper."

Natalia continued. "There was a bit of a scandal about him building houses on an old landfill – this is about two years before he left Tampa. There was nothing hinky about the building as such, but the new residents started complaining that there was still methane leaking from the ground."

"That could be checked by building regulators, couldn't it?" Horatio said.

"It was given a clean bill of health, but all sorts of rumors went round – that the regulators were paid off by Matthews, that he knew the site was unsafe, and so on. No charges were ever brought… But a couple of the residents wouldn't let it go."

Horatio listened intently as Ryan took up the story. "They tried to get lawyers involved, but failed. As far as we could see, there was no proof about the methane anyway. One house had a serious fire – but it wasn't proved that methane was involved. The story just about fizzled out."

"What about the two residents who were unhappy?"

"We didn't have time to find them. One seems to have moved. The other – a Mr Arthur Feldman - is more interesting. He writes letters – to the paper, to the city, to anyone he can think of… He was writing weekly…"

"Obsessed," Horatio murmured.

"It gets worse," Natalia added. "His wife and son died… asphyxia."

"We went back to the police to look at this. They were getting a bit fed up with us by then." Ryan chuckled. "They did investigate, but it was ruled an accident – a faulty boiler – carbon monoxide, not methane."

"But he still blamed the old landfill site?" Horatio said.

"Hard to say, but presumably - the newspaper had stopped printing his letters, because they were getting more and more manic. And libellous. But either Troy Matthews was fed up with it, or it affected his business… We didn't have time to investigate. But then his wife was killed, he wound up his business, and moved to Miami."

"And that's it?"

"Almost," Natalia said. "About six weeks ago, the same newspaper ran a small piece on Matthews – a sort of 'Blast from the Past'. They reported him happy and successful and with a new wife and daughter, living in Miami."

"And you really think this pushed Mr Feldman over the edge?" Horatio's scepticism showed.

"We don't know. It was all we found."

"I'm not criticising – you've done well in the time I gave you. It just sounds unlikely."

"That's what I thought, until the newspaper dug out his last letter – from five weeks ago." Ryan handed a photocopied sheet to his boss.

Horatio read it. "Oh… I see what you mean…"

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

DWELLING IN THE PAST

Chapter 11

Horatio read the letter again. A letter full of rage, threats, and a promise to 'get even, once and for all' – he wondered if the police had seen it. But he knew, from experience, that if someone had been bombarding them and everyone else with ranting letters, for several years, they'd eventually be ignored. He knew too, that such letters rarely translated into action. Yet there was a finality in this letter that troubled him.

Eric knocked and came in.

"You got something?"

"It was a scrap of paper I put aside yesterday. Phone numbers. Anyway, I reverse-searched them this morning and they're all banks."

"Interesting… Have you called them?"

"A couple." He chuckled. "They hid behind confidentiality rules. I said we had warrants. The gist of the replies was 'bring them round then'. Do you want me to?"

"That'd be a long job." He held out his hand. "Let me have a go."

He rang one of the numbers, announcing himself with his full title. "Lieutenant Horatio Caine of the Miami-Dade Police Department Crime Lab." He winked at Eric. "Yes, it is serious. Has Mr Ed Bates…" He gave the address. "…got an account with you?" He listened for a few seconds. "Tell you what, just a yes or no about whether he has an account. If 'yes', I'll come round with a warrant. If 'no', we can all get on with our business. How would that be?" He waited. "'No'. There, that wasn't hard. Thank you, ma'am." He put the phone down.

Eric laughed. "Do you want to do the others?" He wished he could imitate the authority in that voice.

They identified the bank on the second call. "Headquarters in Switzerland… Makes sense… Get round there, Eric…"

* * *

Horatio and Frank faced Ed Bates and his lawyer across the table in the interview room. The man still seemed sure of himself, though perhaps slightly less so after a night in lock-up and an arrest.

"You're making a mistake," the lawyer said. "My client has explained…"

"Not to my satisfaction," Horatio said quietly. "Let me spell it out. My victims were shot with a Kimber rifle. I have pictures of your client with that rifle, and a receipt for its purchase. Your client's DNA was found at the murder site. His boot print matches one found at the scene."

"I already told you I was there," Bates protested.

The lawyer stopped his client's words. "My client has a credible explanation, Lieutenant. Co-incidences do happen. Everything you've got is circumstantial, as you know. Do you have this… er… Kimber?"

"We don't."

"Well then, I think we're finished." He made to stand.

"Not by a long shot," Frank growled. "Sit down."

"Just a few questions, Ed," Horatio said. "What's your connection to the Matthews family?"

Bates looked at his lawyer, who nodded. "None whatsoever."

"In which case, I assume the motive was financial?"

"No comment."

"Mmm… 'No comment'. Not 'I didn't do it'."

"I've said I didn't."

"Are you the Miami Fixer?" He noted that Bates looked shifty, and the lawyer startled. "Catchy name… So what did you fix, Ed?"

"No comment."

Horatio repeated. "What did you fix…" He paused. "…for twenty-five thousand dollars?"

The lawyer said quickly, "I need to speak to my client."

Horatio smiled wolfishly. "I imagine you do." He signalled to an officer. "Take him back to holding. You can go with him, Mr Shultz. Interview terminated at…"

As they left, Frank said, "Who the hell's the Miami Fixer?"

"Him, I think… Sorry, Frank – my man's still unravelling his computer files, but it's a name that came up more than once."

"So what now? Leave him to stew for a bit?"

"I think so. I'm fingers-crossed that Dave Benton unlocks those computer files. But, if we've frightened him – and Schultz – enough, we might get a confession. He might try to cut a deal, though what deal you can have on a triple homicide, I don't know. Maybe remove the death penalty. I really really want the guy who hired him. If he gives us that…"

"Nothing from Tampa?"

"A rather fanciful long-shot… That's all."

* * *

It seemed his finger-crossing worked, to a point. He found Dave Benton in excited conversation with Eric.

"I've got into it, boss."

"Good man. Does it give us Bates? Or his hirer?"

"Sort of. It's a series of very short emails between 'Miami Fixer' – Bates, I assume, as it's from his computer – and someone calling himself 'Nemesis'."

"Revenge," Horatio murmured. "Who is he?"

"Don't know yet. It's all come from an internet café."

"In Tampa, by any chance?"

"Yes. Here's a transcript. It's spread over several days."

_N: Saw your ad. Interested._

_MF: Who?_

_N: Troy Matthews, sending details and pic._

_MF: No misunderstanding – you want him killed?_

_N: Yes. How will you do it?_

_MF: My problem. Leave it with me._

_N: Cost?_

_MF: $10,000._

_N: There's wife and 2 kids too._

_MF: $10K per body._

_N: Can't afford that. Discount?_

_MF: Think this is Walmart?_

"There's a gap of quite a few days there. Then 'Nemesis' comes back." Dave said.

_N: You interested or not?_

_MF: OK. $25K the lot. Half up front._

_N: How?_

_MF: Wire transfer. Bank details Friday._

_N: Can I trust you?_

_MF: Haha! It will cost you $12.5K to find out._

_N: Wanna know why?_

_MF: Not interested. Just business._

_N: Not to me._

_MF: Obviously!_

"There's more," Dave added. "How to find them and so on. I'll print it all out for you."

"He wants to explain. Seek absolution," said Horatio. "My God, it's chilling… They might be discussing a used car."

"Records show him opening that bank account around then," Eric added.

"How do we get to Nemesis?"

Dave shook his head. "Best I can get you is the location of the internet cafés, and the exact time of the sessions."

"Okay, do that. I'll have to get back onto Tampa PD." He turned to go, then looked back. "What's that about an advertisement? He _advertised_ his services?"

"'Hit Men 'R Us'," Eric murmured.

"Not exactly," Dave said. "There's a website where people offer their services – big stuff, like moving a boat up the coast, delivering difficult things like a piano… He put a 'want someone taken out?' ad. It was removed a couple of days later."

Horatio nodded. "Well, nothing surprises me now."

* * *

The next morning, he and Frank faced a somewhat chastened Ed Bates and his lawyer.

The lawyer spoke first. "My client wants to make a statement."

"Well, that's an improvement," Frank said. "Are you confessing, Ed?"

"Yep. I killed them. I was paid to kill them."

"Who by?"

"I don't know. Honestly – it was arranged online, anonymously."

"Have you done this before?"

"No! Certainly not!" Bates sounded illogically indignant. "I was short of money… I was just thinking what skills I had, that I could sell. I thought, well, I'm a good shot. I put the ad up as a joke. I never expected someone to take it seriously."

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

DWELLING IN THE PAST

Chapter 12

Horatio had his shooter. He even had the weapon, disinterred, wrapped in oilskin, from Bates' back yard. What he didn't have was the man who had hired him, and, in Horatio's mind, he was just as guilty. In law too.

He had grovelled to Tampa PD, giving them the times that he was interested in at several internet cafés. He knew the chance of usable CCTV was unlikely, especially as the dates were several weeks ago. He had more hope that someone negotiating a wire transfer might have been picked up on camera. What he couldn't do was instil any sense of urgency into Tampa PD. He had a sneaking feeling that he'd be the same, were the positions reversed. No one put other people's cases ahead of their own. And there wasn't a police department in the state that wasn't overworked.

It was a day later when Tampa came back to him. From the internet cafés, they had drawn a blank. From the bank, a grainy picture of a middle-aged man. A man they couldn't identify. They faxed him a copy.

"Can I ask one more favor, Doug?" He knew he was pushing his luck.

"Horatio! Don't you think I've got enough to do?"

"Doug, this man commissioned three murders! Including a child… I could come up myself if you're busy…"

"No, no need. What do you want?"

"Pick up Arthur Feldman."

"Isn't he the nut job who kept writing letters?"

"Yes, he is."

"Jesus, Horatio! We started ignoring him years ago. Why are you after him, for God's sake?"

"Because he's all I've got. I saw his last letter. It bothered me." He heard the sigh all the way down the phone line. "Doug, I won't ask you for anything else."

"_This_ time." The man chuckled. "If patrol are out that way, I'll get them to call in and see if anything strikes them. Best I can do."

And with that he had to be content. He had a feeling of his case grinding to a halt, yet again. He had a sudden memory of little Florence Matthews, orphaned for no reason other than greed. Or greed plus revenge perhaps.

* * *

It was Friday – again, and he faced another weekend without having solved the murders. Well, he'd partly solved them, but not to his satisfaction. His team were now deployed on other work. There was nothing he could think of to further the Matthews case. He decided he might as well try to clear some of his backlog of paperwork, and go home early. Take his mind off it…

He flipped open his cell and called Cecile.

"Cecile… Fancy coming over this evening? I'll cook for you…"

"That's an invitation I can't refuse," she laughed. "How's your case going?"

"So-so – I'll tell you this evening. I promise not to fall asleep." He heard a sharp bark in the background. "Yes, he's invited too."

Feeling happier, he began on the hated paperwork. It was just after lunch when he took a call from Tampa.

"Horatio…" Doug sounded somber. "You've got an instinct for it, I can't deny it."

"What's happened?"

"Arthur Feldman hanged himself. Patrol found him this morning. And he left a letter – he would, I suppose. I'll fax you a copy. I think it will close your case."

"Thank you." He put the phone down. It wasn't what he had expected, and he didn't feel good about yet another death.

He read the letter. It was everything – a confession, an explanation. No remorse. Feldman had held Troy Matthews responsible for his ill-fortune to the end, in defiance of all logic. He had concluded, 'Now we're equal'. _Equally dead, for no reason… _Horatio filed the fax. Case closed.

He sat, deep in thought. Obsession was a dangerous thing. Irrational, and not to be deflected from its purpose. He wondered that no one had seen Feldman spiralling out of control. But perhaps there _was_ no one. In any case, no one would think that a quiet middle-aged man would hire a killer, miles away in Miami. Things like that didn't happen. _Except it did… _Horatio felt no satisfaction, only deep sadness. He'd done his job, but there were no winners, no justice. He had a feeling that this was a case that would stay with him a long time.

* * *

He signed out at three o'clock and went shopping. He didn't often plan meals. He ate almost anything, sometimes at odd hours. Sometimes he forgot to eat at all. But Cecile had proved to appreciate good food and to have a good appetite. He bought salad and selected two large steaks. Then changed his mind and bought three steaks. He would serve them with thin sautéed potatoes, and a red wine sauce. It would mean cooking while his guest was there, rather than in advance, but he felt more confident than when he had first cooked for Cecile.

He let her in at seven o'clock. Sébastien galloped ahead into the kitchen.

She kissed him lightly. On the cheek, then on the lips. She sniffed. "Something smells good. As well as you, I mean."

"I haven't cooked ours yet. That's Seb's dinner you can smell." A dish of diced steak cooked in gravy was cooling on the counter.

"You're spoiling him."

"Well, I invited you both, didn't I? Right, I'm going to cook."

"Can I watch you?"

He chuckled. "If you want. No rude comments…"

"Would I…"

He turned the griddle on to heat up, while frying the part-cooked potato slices in a pan.

"Multi-tasking…" Cecile teased.

He grinned. "Trying to."

"You're impressive, you know that?"

"Rubbish." He slapped the two remaining steaks on the griddle, switching the extractor fan onto 'High'.

* * *

It was a successful meal, even if he said so himself. Simple, but quality ingredients, which he'd managed not to ruin. He'd never admit it, but cooking for someone else was still a bit of a challenge.

"That was delicious," Cecile murmured.

"Thank you. Seb seems happy." The terrier was lying on his back, asleep, all four paws in the air.

"I should think so. Best beef steak?"

They sat on the sofa, finishing the bottle of wine, then drinking coffee.

"So tell me about your case," Cecile said.

"It's closed. Done, finished. Well, out of my hands now…" He briefly explained the circumstances. He sighed. "I'm usually happy when a case is wound up."

"I can see why you're not. Poor man - Mr Feldman."

"He ordered the killing, and yet… I can't help feeling a bit sorry for him. That sort of obsession, eating him up, for seven years…"

"I would say he was mentally ill."

"And no one noticed."

"It happens, Horatio. Perhaps there was no one around to notice. So who do you blame most – the shooter, or the man who hired him?"

"I don't really know. The shooter, I think – his only motive was money." He was silent for a while. "Sorry, I don't want to think about them anymore, love. Not tonight."

"Then we won't. Would you like me to clear up?"

"You don't need."

"You can take Sébastien out for me."

He smiled. "All right. Deal." He stood up. "Come on, pup, shake a leg."

They crossed the grass to the beach. Now that the dog could run freely, Horatio let him off the leash, to sniff and explore where he wanted, while he himself walked slowly along the water's edge. He was still thinking about the case, though he didn't want to. He stopped and stared out to sea. The faint moonlight reflected on the tops of the waves. In the distance, he could hear sounds of Friday night revelry, but it was a long way away. Here it was peaceful. He wished he felt happier, and walked on, trying to improve his mood.

His reverie was disturbed by a bark and a growl. He turned and shone his flashlight, trying to locate the terrier. He prayed the dog hadn't disturbed something he shouldn't, like a couple making out.

He ran towards the sounds, now reduced to muffled growling. "Seb! What are you doing?" He found the dog straight away, worrying at something. "What have you got? A rat?"

Not a rat, but a bat. Completely dead. Terriers were efficient killing machines. Sébastien was clearly delighted with it, and not about to give it up. He tossed it in the air and caught it again. "Seb, you'll get us both locked up – I think they're protected. I suppose it just flew into your paws… Give it to me."

He clipped the leash on again, and began the walk back to the apartment, stopping now and again to try to extract the increasingly bedraggled bat from the dog's jaws. He succeeded only a few yards from home, when Sébastien was distracted by a passing car. Horatio took advantage of the moment to toss the body back into the grass, and dragged the protesting dog inside.

He found the kitchen tidy and the dishwasher running. He washed his hands and wiped the dog's paws and muzzle. "You little horror…" He let him go.

Following him, he was surprised that the living room lights were off, but a soft light came from his bedroom. He pushed the door open. Cecile was in his bed, comforter pulled up to her chest, shoulders naked, reading.

He couldn't help smiling. "What are you reading?"

"One of your poetry books. Rimbaud."

He noticed a small overnight bag on the floor in the corner.

"Seb tried to bring you a present. A dead bat – we left it outside."

"Why, Seb, thank you. How thoughtful." The dog jumped onto the bed and tried to lick her face. "No, you smell of blood, cherie."

"I did wipe his face."

"He's okay. I'm getting used to his less savory habits." She looked questioningly at him. "Is this…?"

Horatio smiled, nodded, and took his jeans off, throwing them onto a chair. He went into the bathroom, quickly washing and cleaning his teeth, before returning to the bedroom. Cecile had put the book down and was watching him.

"Have you got anything on, under there?" His voice was slightly husky. She shook her head. "Oh… okay…"

He pulled off t-shirt and boxers, pitched them into the laundry basket, and approached the bed. Sébastien sat bolt upright.

"What about him?"

"He'll be all right. This isn't his territory." She pointed to the foot of the bed, and the dog obediently moved. "Let me look at you…"

"No, you'll embarrass me." Horatio slid quickly into bed. "He's still giving me the evil eye." He turned and addressed the dog. "Sébastien, I am going to make love to your Mom. To this lovely lady. You can go or stay, but you can mind your own business for once."

With a small sigh, the dog lay down, curled up and closed his eyes.

THE END


	13. Epilogue

**(A/N: I have added a short epilogue to this story - for dog lovers only. Don't worry - it really ended with Chapter 12. This is just Sebastien's thoughts on the last few hours.)**

DWELLING IN THE PAST

EPILOGUE

I'll stay quiet. Pretend to be asleep. I know they want to mate – I've seen humans mate before. Hell, even _I've_ mated a few times, with odd bitches I met on the streets. Before they cut my balls off, of course. Only trouble is, humans can be quite noisy. Some bitches are too – howling and growling. Not us dogs. We just get on with the job.

I wasn't sure about him, for a while. At first, I thought he was wonderful – he rescued me out of the road when I stupidly got knocked down. But then he made my Mom cry. Well, I _think_ it was his fault. Sometimes I don't understand humans completely. Anyway, I nipped him when I next saw him, just to tell him I'd noticed, and not to do it again. And it all seems all right now. If Mom likes him, I'll like him. I like his fur. I had a friend that color once. Now I call him Red. I can just about get my bark round that. Unlike the name Mom calls him. That sounds like a sneeze.

I can't believe the meat I got for dinner. Don't think I've ever had meat so tender you don't have to chew it. And it was a good walk. More things to hunt at night. I've never caught a bat before – odd bony thing, not as good as a fat rat. Even so, I wish I'd been allowed to keep it. It had hours of play left in it. Oh well, never mind… It's warm and comfortable here…

Oh good, I don't think they're going to be noisy. They're doing it the wrong way round, of course, like most humans… Face to face. Don't understand that at all… I think it's because they like slobbering in each other's faces. Can't quite imagine it. I'd rather have a good mouthful of neck scruff. Perhaps if I was two-legged, instead of four… Now you're being silly, Seb.

'Seb', 'Sébastien' – it's not my real name, of course… Well, I suppose it is now. I think I started out as Bert. Doesn't matter – I'll answer to anything, me, as long as it's said kindly. And Sébastien does have a bit of class.

Red's definitely an alpha-dog. You can feel it. He's had to fight for it, by the look of his scars.

I never was. But I've never really had a pack, to be part of. Anyway, I'm a bit lazy… I like this sort of life better than being on the streets. Sometimes I miss the freedom, but more often it was cold and dangerous. I wasn't often hungry, but you get really tired of rats after a while. Occasionally, I see one of my old acquaintances. They try to wind me up – 'lap-dog' etc. – because I'm on a leash, with a human. But really, they're jealous, I think. I feel a bit sorry for them. I want to tell them – 'If you get a chance, go for it.'

Whoa… Now she's getting on top of him. That really is silly! Imagine a dog being pinned to the ground by a bitch… You'd never live it down. Especially an alpha like him. He doesn't seem to mind… Strange creatures, humans…

Now he's caught my eye. Better pretend to be asleep again… Yawn…


End file.
